"the world's vague," he stuttered, piercing my throat with his tears of an angel voice. "you're vague," i coughed through my murky pores, trying to focus on my nail polish. "ouch," he smiled, and i felt myself tighten like a lollipop. i hated the way jokes erupted from his lips like mount saint helens. i shiftd my legs, uncomfortable so the stars in my belly burned like a wild fire. "where's fucking smoky the bear when you need him," i half whispered half muttered to the planets aligning a million hours from nowhere. my shirt was white, streaked with ash because i was looking into the mirror, drinking myself beautiful. i sucked my tongue. "nadine...?" i flipped my grungy hair, bringing my eyes to meet his chest, my cheeks turning tickle me pink rose petals mixed with dry ice. my lips were picked raw, and i chewed on the dead skin like candy. it bled crimson blue and he noticed, but barely. i heard it, and so did he, his head shot to the left like a shot gun blast. and mine snapped like a wind-up mouse. "oh, shit...," he bellowed lower than a horse's hooves. randy wallace, football captian, flung in our direction like seaweed strangling me 6 feet under. my insides rattled. "jarrett my man," he croaked, slappin ghim on the back harder than a brick.
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"go to hell, wallace."
"nuh-uh. word is this little whore," he grabbed a fistfull of my hair and sweat stung my sweater, "was talking shit in the locker room?" his breath smelled like raw saliva. he grinned, feeling me up with one moonlit finger.
"word is randy, that you eat your damn jockstrap for breakfast." i cringed, because his hand let go of my hair and slapped the side of my face, i felt the blood drain like milk. he unhooked my bra, shoving me up against jarrett's car, and his tongue on my neck felt like porky pine needles. i went numb, and my pants slipped, because the wind felt like heartache. i felt him, warm and up against my thigh, jarrett blending into the background eating concrete. i shook wallace's spit from my neck, curling my fingers like she showed me that summer
("never like that, dumbshit. you'll break your knuckles.")
and i hit him. he staggered, and i laughed. my voice shaky, crying like supernova hitting metal. i hit him, agian. harder. shoving his own cum down his throbbing throat. his jaw cracked, and he screamed loud enough bells rang in my eyes. i kicked him in the nuts and walked toward class, lighting a cigarette against my lips.
i hid my razors in the bottom of daddy's hunting pants. they felt like spiders, crawling slowly against the tips of my fingers. the silver clocked ticking away my sadness. my breathing was jagged, so afraid that the boy with chocolate eyes had watched me squirm. "no one watches me squirm," i repeated, beating the blade into my hands. "what's that," the teacher directed her plant green eyes at my pale, disorganized face. i was nervous, but my fingers know how to play rough. "i just love this class, mrs. johnson," i hissed. i'm a snake trapped inside a steel box. she nodded, pleased but disturbed, and i started to cough, my excuse for feeling the gravedigger reel me in a little deeper. "mmm, hi," looking up barbie dreamhouse was standing so close i fell over. she giggled. bitch.
"uh, i noticed you're ruining our carpet, babe." more giggling. with one eye i looked at the floor, the carpet was red.
"attention is for such losers, ya' know, drama queens." her gum snapped, i popped the bubble with my invisable teeth. "i guess that puts you in your place, right?" her face was pastel, reaking of perfume and makeup. i swallowed, she waiting. "freak," i could tell she was getting impatient so i reached my hand to her hair and yanked. it fell out in my lap. "anorexic," i sung. i watched her crumble under her own fake skin, and through the window she crawled.
"hi, is nadine there?"
phone calls make my neck hurt.
"oh. uh, meet me in 5 minutes. you know.. over at lincoln? yeah. i'm serious, nadine. jsut do it."
i let the phone fly across the room and hit the cedar chest i kept my, "inappropriate" clothes. the ones father liked to beat me for, snapping the belt like the world's herion driven. it was raining, and i decided to go without a sweater. it still stunk of football captian. i walked the 2 minutes with my body pointed toward the clouds, rain smearing my face like bloody murder. i twirled the wind with my buttercup fingers, smiling like a 3 year old. i heard him clear his throat. "hey, beautiful," i managed. the evening was crystal, like mountians. a camera clicked, and confusion made me want to hurl. "what the hell..." i sputtered. in his icy frost licked hands he had a camera, biting his lip like a doll i got for my 6th birthday. "cute, Lykins." it flashed, again. but i ran toward him, knowing he wasn't going to move. "give it, beautiful," my face was so red i knew i could inject him with my thoughts. 16 inches from each others noses and he placed the piece of plastic in my hands, it was cold. "i'm torn," he whispered so only i could hear. he didn't want the moss to know our little secrets. i traced his face with my thumb, hanging my head. oh god, what was i thinking? "let's get in the car," he said sweeter than peaches. i was dreaming, and driving down the road i pinched myself like a mannequin that doesn't feel. welts danced on my fingers, hands, and up my arms. "you okay," he said more to the street signs than to me. his face was so intense i thought i'd explode. "i realized i'm not dreaming," my voice was shy. i felt the windows turn black, and my eyes fluttered. demons took me under.
i sifted awake, yawning only half past the demons and into the angels. things hurt, destruction takes you under like pot makes you roar. the room was silver, like the cross hanging from my black choker. it was jarrett's, and the blankets made me so warm it was impossible to leave. things were hazy, because daddy won't fix my glasses. on the shelf across the rectangle box of a room, was a jar that dripped, "my emotions." he needed to be glued back together. it was bright, but the watches on my wrist chimed, 11:11 pm. "make a wish," i said to the ceiling, drinking my own thoughts.
"what if my wish was you?"
i slurred, but my words never skipped a beat.
"and if it was?" his words were the ocean.
"then it's fate," i said, turning over and breathing his words against the pillowcase.
"god, nadine. what is it with you? i ask you something, or... or, i don't know. fucking change my shirt and that's what i get. it's fate. what happened to the normal shit people say?"
i started to melt, because his fear was ripping through his ripcage before i could mend it with my bones. "fuck you, asshole." i walked to the bathroom, the hallway grabbing my legs and helpng me trip. i heard his door slam, locking me out. the sky turned purple, so i hung it with my metallic noose. in my pocket 17 yellow pills clung to lint, the size of a needle. i stumbled to the kitchen, using the phone like i was queen. queens only exsited in my dreams. i could feel him talking through the walls.
"what the fuck do you want?"
"andrew? kitten?," i cracked. i wanted to gag myself. "can you pick me up baby?," i stroked the pills with my eyes, my words thick with flem and bullshit. "sure, sweetheart, mind telling me what the hell is up your ass with these stupid pet names?"
i hung up before i could let myself answer.
his face was printed on the furniture in fairy tale icing. i shook, and my eyeliner crumbled into my pants. "stupid cunt," i almost shouted, whiping off my makeup, letting it sting my fists. the house was black, and i never gave andrew the address. a wire stung the inside of my mouth, and i agree to let it bleed. air wouldn't hit my lungs, and the inhaler i had sex with every 7 seconds was in jarrett's bed. sleeping under the covers. i groaned. my hand covered my face and i heard a clang, and something struck the top of my boot. i lowered my fingers, the inhaler glowed like a flouresent mosh pit. "what are you doing," i asked, coughing a little. "you're wheezing, it's cute," he pinched my cheeks and i barked, "get off." he grabbed my hand, and i let him, drinking in the way his hair clung to his forehead. "fate hurts, nadine. i hurt. you hurt. the fucking fourth of july hurts when you strike the banjo and slash the sky." his voice was off pitch, but he managed to use his finger to wipe the marks off my face. i sighed, and so did he, lying his head on my lap. i stroked his head and whispered something hiding on the tip of my tongue.
"but there was this moment of weakness in his eyes,
he was vunerable to me, and me alone.
so i took a picture and caught it.
and i shoved it in my pocket.
i'll save it for a rainy day."
he said something, but his face wet, and he pushed it deep into my legs. it was muffled, and i asked him to tell me again, softly, because i didn't want him to break. he picked up his head, and looked at me, pale put pure. like the moon. "it's raining..."
my heart skipped two beats.